Strength
by iAir Nomad
Summary: They were the last two alive in the Arena, and the whole world was watching. Oneshot; A Hunger Games AU. Major character death. 500% angsty Nezushi. There is not a single happy moment in this fic, have tissues on hand.


Oh, if he had known the repercussions of falling asleep that one godforsaken night, he never would have slept at all. "You need your rest and all your strength for tomorrow," Nezumi had told him softly.

"What tomorrow?" Shion had questioned bitterly between gritted teeth.

"Rest for the strength to continue _living your life _tomorrow. See through this to the very end, Shion. Don't give up now when we've come so far." Nezumi answered, though he knew the question hadn't been exactly intended to be voiced for an answer or yet another of Nezumi's motivational lectures. The dark-haired boy had seen it, though; the light he had seen when he first met Shion, withering away and seeping below them into the earth until Shion's body was sucked dry and he was lifeless and emotionless as any mechanical device. Nezumi was furious, though he contained it well this time. This is what the Capitol did to every one of its victims of the Games. He wondered if Shion was doomed since the very start, doomed to change, to…

No. He wasn't going to let that happen. Never.

_ Nezumi released a frustrated breath, pinching the bridge of his nose after yet another outburst at Shion for taking the Games too lightly and giving up too easily before they had even begun. They were still in training. He knew it was bad to form an alliance with the strange, white-haired boy from the beginning, but he knew this was their best chance at surviving until the very end. And, well, as much as he hated to admit it… he'd felt an undeniable attraction to the teen in the few days they've gotten to know one another. He found himself wanting to be with Shion wherever he was within the Arena, to know constantly that he was safe, that he was always at his side where he could protect him. And then… when the time came… _

Shion knew they were the last two alive in the Arena, and the entire world was watching, waiting to see now what their next move would be. He didn't want to acknowledge it, though. He couldn't, not without breaking down in tears. He knew full well that the Capitol would not bring them both out at the same time and crown them both as victors. It was one or the other. Oh, the _cruelty_ of these games, of these people — could they even be called people? Were they really human, to watch twenty-four other _human_ tributes stab or beat each other to their last breath in an enclosed Arena, to watch them become no different than ferocious beasts, as a form of entertainment every year? And then prey on more victims who were living on scraps and pennies back in the districts?

There was nothing about this situation that could possibly be humane and justifiable.

Shion thought about it constantly as the week had drawn on, what he and Nezumi would do when and _if _they ended up as the last two alive in the Arena. He thought about it over and over and always came to one conclusion: He could not stand to lose Nezumi. Aside from his mother, there was nothing grounding him to this world, nothing except for Nezumi. His best childhood friend, Safu — he'd hoped so badly for her survival. His throat closed up and he could barely breathe or function when he saw her forced to stand beside him at the reaping as District 6's female tribute. He'd almost lost himself completely when he heard the canon fire of yet another death to a tribute and saw her smiling face in the sky above him a few nights into the Games. But Nezumi was there. Nezumi promised him life, and through his kisses, his undying love, his total devotion to hold him and protect him and caress away his tears, and to breath hope into him once again in all these ways and more.

_Nothing_ tied him to this world without Nezumi standing, breathing, right next to him.

And so he had decided that when it came right down to it, he would either sacrifice his own life for the other, or they both die together. And the Capitol would have no victor that year.

He should not have gone to sleep that night.

Nezumi sighed once more, sitting up to watch Shion sleep, then looked up toward the cave ceiling of their little hideout from the snow storm outside, finding his vision blurry with tears. A few tributes died just from cold with little to no knowledge of how to keep warm. Nezumi knew all about survival, though. If they encountered other tributes to kill, he did not hesitate. But most of the week, they'd hid out in places like this, kept their voices almost always hushed, climbed and rested in trees, and just avoided others in general. They coped even better from the occasional generous gifts of hot food or water or medicine from sponsors, and he knew it was all because of Nezumi and Shion's infatuation with one another. But he didn't love Shion for the sake of getting sponsors. Falling in love had never even been part of his plan. But he did, and he knew it was going to be his downfall. Another downfall of a tribute of District 7.

As Shion slumbered on, Nezumi pulled out his knife from his waistband, and began to quietly sharpen it. He could almost hear the gasps from the viewers in the Capitol, filled to the brim with questions and suspense on which of the two he planned to use the knife on. As he did so, he sniffled and wiped at his eyes, even now refusing to let himself cry, but he couldn't avoid the clear trembling of his voice as he spoke in a murmur while looking down upon Shion's face, "I, Nezumi," a sniffle. "Take you, Shion, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward…" another sniffle. "for better or for worse… for richer, for poorer, in sickness a-nd in health," a hot bead of a tear slid down his cheek and he hastily reached up to be rid of it. He swallowed, "to love and to cherish; from this day forward… un-til death… do us part."

If Shion was awake, there would be trouble. However, he knew that the Capitol was recording this moment; _especially_ this moment, with their little hidden cameras everywhere, it seemed. The world watched. They were all probably sighing, wishing it didn't have to be this way. He wished, too. Shion would not receive his vow now, but he would eventually.

_"Shion," Nezumi spoke tenderly after a long few silent moments after his outburst. He shook his head and glided over to the boy across from him, cupping his face delicately in his hands, as though Shion was made out of the finest porcelain glass. Shion looked up at him in wonder, and Nezumi leaned forward and touched their foreheads together, stroking his cheek with a thumb in the featheriest of touches. Deep red and stormy grey eyes met in a loving clash. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I just want you to be safe." His gaze hardened with seriousness, and despite knowing how much Shion would protest the thought, he said, "If anyone comes out of that hellhole alive… I want it to be you." _

_Shion reached up fast and gripped Nezumi's wrists, looking pained, shutting his eyes tightly. "But what if I don't? I can't… I don't want to kill another human being, Nezumi… what if they killed me or both of us?" _

_Nezumi smiled, though it had an undertone of melancholy. "Well now, that wouldn't be very good, would it?" He kissed him lightly on the lips. "We'll just have to try and stay alive together, then." The words 'until the final moment arrives' floated thickly in the little space between them. _

'And the final moment has arrived, Shion. I hope you will forgive me and understand one day the reason for my actions. But I won't go back on my promise to you. Though I can't be physically there, I will still stand by your side. I will still watch over you and love you, as I've always done,' Nezumi thought. 'I grew too attached to you. It's my fault things ended up this way. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

Nezumi pressed his lips to Shion's temple. He took his time, etching his promise and his love permanently into the boy's skin. 'Without fail, I will watch over you, and I will wait for you…'

District 7's tribute then stood up, gripping the knife so tight in his hand until his knuckles turned white, and let his feet drift him outside of the cave.

The following morning, Shion stumbled out of the cave to cradle the pale, limp body of his love on the snowy forest floor into his chest, rocking him back and forth, burying his twisted up face in Nezumi's soft, dark hair. The trail of hot tears were salty against his lips, and they couldn't stop. Nezumi was no longer there to kiss them away.

* * *

Happy sighs, heartfelt promises, kisses that stole his breath, soft lullabies late into the night, motivational pep-talks; Love. Comfort. Warmth. All of these things slipped away so fast from Shion before he could process that such an unbelievable thing had—could _ever_ happen to him, that he could find such happiness and love from a single being. Nezumi's very presence had once filled him to the brim, like a full glass of something thick and warm and sweet. Shion had vastly underestimated the value of his time with Nezumi. He couldn't go back home like this; could not simply live on knowing that Nezumi had died for his sake to make sure he kept moving.

'I can't move now, Nezumi. My feet won't budge. My heart has dropped to my stomach and dissipated. My voice won't come out when I'm being spoken to. I don't want to speak to anyone else but you. I don't want to _look_ at anyone else but you. I don't _want_ to live my life without _you._'

And oh, how Nezumi would scold him so for such thoughts. He could almost imagine it.

The final interview post-Hunger Games was where Shion drew the line, where he decided he was done with Capitol.

"This is indeed a tragedy," Caesar Flickerman said to him grimly, taking Shion's limp hand in his and patting it gently. Shion let him. He couldn't move to refuse the touch, and only wished it had been a certain stormy-eyed one's hand instead. "We all could see so clearly how much you loved one another."

Shion said nothing.

Caesar swallowed, trying to come up with something else that would make the boy talk, or make a reaction of _any _sort… "Well, as a parting gift, I think it would be nice to let you see him one last time." Shion's eyes flicked up to meet him at that. He was bewildered, bordering horrified, even. _See_ him? Surely he didn't mean his dead corpse… in front of all these people…

"He left a message for you, you know," Caesar murmured, smiling sadly. Shion couldn't tell if it was feigned sympathy. "We have it recorded. I think this was the highlight of the entire Games. Shall we take a look, folks?" Caesar spoke to the crowd, receiving an abundant amount of cheering and clapping. It disturbed Shion. Nevertheless, he looked up to the wide screen TV behind him on the stage.

The clip rolled, and there in such amazing quality, sat Nezumi next to Shion's sleeping form. Everything about him was so clearly defined, he thought he could just reach into the screen and grasp a warm hand, or press his palm to his chest and feel a heartbeat; be able to feel _his_ Nezumi, _so_ beautiful, _so_ alive…

The moment Nezumi started sharpening his knife and speaking a traditional wedding vow to him, Shion gasped out breaths as he fought his tears all over again. His chest and his heart constricted. He reached up a hand to grip it and calm himself. He couldn't. Then, Nezumi looked over to the screen, directly into the camera. He gave a small nod to the Capitol. 'Show this to him,' he seemed to say. His face was beyond glorious as ever, and Shion's heart both reveled in it and died from it. Nezumi kissed his temple for a long time. The lump in Shion's throat refused to go away. When he stood up and turned his back to the camera to leave the cave with knife in hand, Shion had had enough. The crowd was making all kinds of noise, from "aww's" to squeals to cries and Shion could bear it no longer. He stood up from his seat abruptly and strode off the stage, leaving Caesar sputtering useless words of "wait!" and "come back, Shion!"

Shion ignored the calls of officials, telling him the interview was not over. All he wanted to do was board that train, and go home. The Capitol had played with his heart far too many times since that day.

* * *

The white-haired teen rested his forehead and his fists against the wall of the train in his room. It was happening all over again. No matter what he did, no matter where he went, since that day, Nezumi's echoing voice never left and persistently invaded his mind as though he were unconsciously trying to mend his broken heart, but it never worked. He could not associate that heavenly, baritone voice with a living, breathing form. It did nothing to soothe him. He ached.

He ached, he ached he ached he ached, and _oh!_ how he much _pain _there was that he could not process, could not endure!

The fists curled up tighter and Shion banged the wall persistently, choking on his tears again. How much longer would he feel like this before he would go completely numb and never feel a shred of emotion again?

_I, Nezumi, take you, Shion, to be my husband…_

Shion grit his teeth maddeningly. Would his teeth break? He didn't care.

_To have and to hold from this day forward…_

Shion was losing sight of himself quickly. He pounded the wall harder and harder until his hands became red, and by that point, he was gone. The lamp on his nightstand was lifted and hurled, crashing into pieces against the floor of the other side of the room.

_For better or for worse…_

He reached up to a loose corner of the wallpaper and tore it down, ripping it to shreds, tears streaming without an end and dripping off his chin. His throat had closed again.

_For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…_

The mirror was punched before Shion could even get a look at himself. He screamed. The shards collapsed to the floor and left him with bleeding knuckles.

_To love and to cherish; from this day forward…_

Shion screamed, screamed, screamed, until his vocal chords failed and all that came out was wheezing. He couldn't breathe. His hands shook violently at his sides. He no longer felt human, to the core. Nezumi kept him sane. He had kept him human.

'Fine then,' Shion thought suddenly, reaching clumsily for a butter knife on the desk he had managed to refrain himself from toppling over. 'If I live only to forget his face and everything I once loved about him, it's not worth it. My life was pointless anyway.'

His mentors rushed in that very moment. Shion screamed at them to go away. They did not.

"I'll be fucking damned if get a dead man on board this train!" One of his mentors shouted at him, and Shion seethed with rage. His female mentor confiscated his knife and the male held him, trying to calm him down. But instead of fighting back, Shion buried his face in the carpeted floor and drenched it with his deep sorrows. 'When I leave this train, nobody can stop me. Nobody will _want_ to stop me. It won't matter.' He lamented. 'I'm going to join you where you are, Nezumi. I could never be strong enough as you, to live without you. I've loved too deeply. I'll see you again soon, and hear you repeat those vows to me face to face.'

_Until death do us part._


End file.
